


Bottsledding

by ColorfulMadness (livingbard)



Series: Attack on (Winter) Olympics [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Bobsledding, Building snowmen, Fluff, Frozen references, Hurt/Comfort, Intense athleticism, Jean hates clothing, M/M, Marco Polo - Freeform, Marco gets hurt, Modern AU, Olympics, i really suck at tags, it'll turn out happy, jeanmarco, mentions of track, no one dies, olympic au, others will be mentioned, probably some smut, puns oh god, somewhat reincarnation AU, tags to be updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:42:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingbard/pseuds/ColorfulMadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco have known each other their entire lives. So what happens when Jean suddenly finds himself short a Marco?</p><p>A tale of friendship, bromance, and unconditional love. </p><p>And bobsledding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jean

Jean does not like to wear clothes.

 

He is seven years old, naked as the day he was born, sitting beside his best (read: only) friend Marco and playing a video game.

 

Marco has known Jean since the day he was born. He himself had been two months old and in the same neonatal unit as Jean. Neither of them remember it, but their mothers like to bring it up occasionally when the two boys are running around begging for “Five more minutes!” before one had to leave.

 

Their mothers had met in the hospital, visiting their respective sons, and immediately bonded over the shared anxiety of having premature babies.

 

Marco was in the hospital for a total of three months, Jean for two. One together. The one month of separation when they were newborns is the longest they’ve ever been apart.

 

Jean’s parents were new to the area and still lived in a temporary apartment when Marco’s suggested a house recently for sale in their neighborhood. Before long, Jean and Marco lived exactly three houses down from each other. They saw each other nearly every day, and grew up like twins.

 

So Marco is prepared, when seven-year-old Jean throws his backpack in a corner and flings off his shirt. Jean’s sleeping over at Marco’s for the weekend while his parents celebrate his mother’s birthday.

  
“Why do you hate clothes so much?”

 

“Itchy.” Jean grunts, kicking off his pants and underwear.

 

“Don’t pee on anything.” Is Marco’s only warning, and even then he’s teasing.

 

“I won’t!” Jean cries, glaring at Marco. “Only babies pee on stuff!”

  
“You’re still a baby.”

 

“Am not!”

 

“You are compared to me!” Marco’s eight and in another month Jean will be, too, but for now Marco’s older and loving every minute of it. Jean, on the other hand, hates it.

  
“Shut up!”

 

“Jean! You said a bad word!” Marco’s under the impression that shut up and stupid are two of the worst words in existence, along with crap, butt, and dick (the last one his mother had actually had to come and talk to their teacher about). 

“It’s not a bad word!” Jean shot back, glaring at Marco as he sat his naked butt on the floor. Marco had a rule- if Jean was going to be naked he couldn’t sit on the furniture. Marco settled into his beanbag chair and they began their racing game.

 

About half an hour later, Marco’s mom came to get them for dinner (mac and cheese). “Marco!” She called as she headed up the stairs, a faint smile on her lips.

 

Jean and Marco both knew the drill and screamed back, “POLO!” as Jean scrambled to pull on his clothes. Marco’s mom was essentially a second mom to him, and as such she was fully capable of putting Jean in Solitary Confinement (time-out) and had done so in the past. Jean’s mom was the same with Marco, although the young boy with freckles never caused her as much grief as her own strong-willed, self-proclaimed “wild child”.

  
She poked her head in. “Dinner’s ready! And tonight you guys are going to get to see something pretty spectacular!” She winked and left the room.

 

Jean and Marco exchanged a Look before following her, shrugging their shoulders. Each got a plate of cheesy noodles and went to the table, as was custom in both households.

 

“Boys, tonight we’re gonna eat in the den!” Marco’s mom grinned. “Don’t tell your father, Marco!” She giggled, and the boys giggled with her. Jean liked Marco’s mom, she could be so silly, like a kid. He liked his own mom, too. She smelled nice and read him stories with different voices for each character.

 

He was snapped from his musings by Marco, who looked at his mom and asked the important question. “Is this where we see the spec-tac-ular thing?” He sounded out the word carefully, and his mom nodded and smiled mysteriously.

 

“Come on!” She led them to the den, and to the TV trays she’d set up previously. Each boy sat down and looked around, excited.

 

Marco’s mom flipped on the tv and turned to a station neither Marco or Jean regularly watched. Some boring old people (read: adults) were talking about something boring (read: not cartoons).

  
“Wha iz thish?” Jean asked through a mouthful of macaroni, swallowing guiltily at an admonishing glance from Marco’s mom. “Sorry, Mrs. Marcy. What is this?”

 

“This, boys, is……the Winter Olympic Games!” She beamed at the two, and Marco felt himself smile in response. He looked at Jean.

 

“We talked about this in school, remember?! This is where those people from all the countries come and play sports with each other!”

 

Jeans eyes widened in realization. “Oh, yeah! They skate and ski and play hockey and stuff! Cool! I’ve never seen it before!”

 

Marco’s mom, Marcy, laughed. “You remember the summer games from two years ago? You boys were six.”

 

They both frowned and tried to think.

 

“People…flipped around?” Jean tried.

 

“There was….swimming?” Marco questioned.

 

She laughed again. “I bet you don’t remember the last Winter Olympics at all, then. You were four and three. They do a lot more than ski and skate and play hockey and stuff.”

 

Jean’s eyes widened more. “What else do they do?” He breathed, Marco nodding his head and hanging on every word his mother said.

 

“There’s curling, and different types of skiing and ice skating, bobsledding and snowboarding, and tonight they’re showing luge!”

 

“What’s that?” Marco asked, Jean this time nodding along to Marco’s words.

 

“It’s where people get into a really fancy sled and go realllllly fast down a track! It’s actually pretty dangerous. Look, they’re showing it now!”

  
The next few hours had the boys routed to their seats as they watched the luge section of the Olympics. Around 10, Marcy sent them up to bed.

 

Marco pulled out the trundle from under his bed as Jean chattered on about the Olympics.

 

“I’m totally gonna go and be the best Olympian EVER! Did you SEE how fast that guy was going?!?!?!?!” He was nearly crying with excitement.

 

“Shhhhh, don’t be so loud or my mom’ll make us sleep in separate rooms.” Marco warned, only subduing Jean a little bit.

 

“Don’t you want to do it, too?” Jean questioned, turning to Marco.

  
He shrugged. “I mean, it was cool, but I’d rather do a team sport.”

 

“Team sport? Like hockey? No way!” Jean shook his head violently. “I could never do that.”

 

“I know, dope. That’s why I’m not you.” Marco threw a pillow at Jean, hitting the back of his head. Jean glared.

  
“But if you did a team sport without me I’d never see you.” He huffed, sitting on the trundle and scowling.

  
“Then you’d have to do it with me.”

 

“But everyone else is so annoying! I don’t want to do it with them!” He groaned, flopping back with his arm over his face. “I’d just want to do it with you!”

“Well, I don’t know about any two-person sports.” Marco pointed out.

 

“Why don’t we go ask your mom? She knows a lot about it.” Jean said, perking up instantly.

  
“We’re supposed to be in bed…”

 

“It’s only been like, ten minutes, come on, baby!” Jean teased.

  
“You’re the baby, who’s still seven?” Marco countered, ducking as Jean hurled the pillow back at him.

 

The boys raced back downstairs, and Marcy looked up from the dishes. “I thought I sent you two to bed!” She said, raising an eyebrow.

  
“Just one question, Mrs. Marcy!” Jean said.

 

“Sorry, mom!” Marco sounded at the same time.

 

“What is it?” She sighed theatrically and wiped her hands on her pants.

 

“Are there any Winter Olympic sports where the teams are two people?” Jean asked, looking up at her with large, amber eyes. Marco stared at her with equally large eyes.

 

She nodded. “There’s pairs ice skating, and ice dancing, and the bobsled, or bobsleigh.”

 

They stared at her.

 

“Both the ice skating and dancing are just ice skaters who skate together.” She explained. “Bobsledding uses teams of either two or four men who use a sled to make timed runs down ice tracks.” Seeing the ideas forming in her son’s mind, she added, “Ice skating and dancing pairs are a man and a woman, while the bobsledding pairs are usually divided into men and women’s events.”

Jean grabbed Marco’s hand and yanked him back up the stairs. “THANK YOU!” He shouted, closing the door and smiling a maniac smile Marco knew all too well.

 

“Jean-“

  
“Marco Bodt!” Jean snapped, throwing off his shirt and skiving off his pants, leaving on his underwear because Marco drew the line at Jean being naked in his trundle bed.

  
“I have had an idea!” He went over and threw open the window, despite the cold February air.

 

Marco smiled, giddy despite himself. Jean’s enthusiasm was contagious. He decided to play along. “What, pray tell, could that be?”

 

Jean clenched one hand in a fist against his chest, and flung the other dramatically out the window to the night sky. “We will be!” He turned and, annoyed, grabbed Marco, dragged him to the window, before striking his pose again. “The GREATEST bobsledding team in the HISTORY of the WORLD!!!!”

 

Marco smiled and laughed, before tugging Jean away from the window and closing it. “Yeah, yeah. You’re gonna get sick doing things like that, you know.”

 

Jean was hurt. “Marco!” He whined, collapsing back on the trundle bed and hanging his head in his hands. “You totally ruined the moment, dude!”

 

“Sorry, sorry. Jean, I think it would be really fun to be on a bobsledding team with you, ok?” Marco sat next to his friend.

 

Jean peered out from between his fingers and sniffed. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do!” Marco stuck out his tongue, and fell backwards when Jean tackled him.

 

“PERFECT!”

 

“JEAN!!!!”

 

“BOYS! LIGHTS OUT! NOW!”

 

“……yes ma’am!”

 

* * *

 

About eleven years later, the young men collapse onto Jean’s bed after a day of running outside. They need to be at top physical condition, and that means hours in the sun.

Jean’s tall now, Marco’s taller. Jean sports an undercut and an earring, and it’s hard to tell the difference between Marco’s tan and his freckles.

 

Jean peels his shirt off and throws it in the corner, his pants quickly following.  Many things have changed in the past decade, Marco muses, draining a bottle of water and kicking off his tennis shoes. But one thing certainly has not changes, and Marco suspects it never will.

 

Jean still does not like to wear clothes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This is the 2nd of about....seven? Planned Olympic-themed stories revolving the SNK gang. They don't go in order and can be read separately, though they occur in the same universe. 
> 
> Anyway, this is an intro chapter. It hasn't been beta-d, so if you see mistakes hit me up and I'll fix 'em. Next chapter the somewhat plot will occur!
> 
> I specifically picked the 2-man bobsled event for them because of the opportunity to use the title "Bottsledding." I'm serious. Don't kill me.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Be sure to click on the little kudos heart and leave a comment (it really makes my day!)
> 
> I just have a headcanon of little Jean always stripping and running around buck-naked. It just makes me giggle.


	2. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco and Jean go sledding.

Those moments will forever be burned into Jean’s memory.

 

No matter how hard he tries to forget, even for a second- when he closes his eyes he sees the ice and hears the splintering of wood before everything goes black. When the light comes back he sees red tainting the snow. So much red. Outlining familiar dark hair and a face coated in freckles.

  
It’s only then that Jean screams, when he sees the dent in Marco’s head. 

 

But he’s getting ahead of himself. He takes a deep breath and looks at the officer to give his report. Marco’s still unconscious, but Jean’s okay aside from a mild concussion. They shaved the underside of his hair and wrapped a bandage around his head, then sent him to the officer who’d first arrived on the scene.

 

“What’s your name, son?” The man is middle-aged and totally the kind of guy who calls every girl “missy” and every guy “son” regardless of actual relation.

 

“Jean Kirschtein.”

  
“How old are you?”

  
“Eighteen.”

 

“What is the name and age of your friend?

 

There’s a lump in Jean’s throat that won’t go away. “Marco Bott. Eighteen.”

 

“Alright. Now can you please tell me what happened?” The man asks, his fingers poised over a keyboard and ready to type. Jean clears his throat and wishes that Marco was awake and not him. Marco was-is, he corrects himself, _is_ much better with words.

 

“We, uh, decided to go out at around seven. It’s the first real snow we got around here this year and we wanted to try out the new sled.” He swallows hard. “We’ve got a place we always go to, over by the park.”

 

* * *

 

 

They were both excited.

  
“Man, this is the stuff!” Jean shouts, leaning his head back to catch snowflakes in his open mouth. Marco shakes his head and laughs.

 

“You sound so sketchy when you say stuff like that.” He laughs, nudging Jean’s shoulder with his own. His comment is met with a glare and a scowl.

 

“Why do you have to take something super innocent like that and make it twisted?” He groans, hitching their sled up under his arm. It’s not the professional sled they use for competitions, just a simple wooden one with normal runners designed for playing out in the snow.

  
Marco tugs his hat lower over his head to cover his ears and sighs. “You know,” He tilts his head back and lets the flakes fall on his face, “I think the only reason I like snow is because it means we get to go out sledding.”

 

“You could probably turn that into some kind of conspiracy theory.” Jean comments as they begin to treck up their hill.

  
“What, the government invented sledding to keep the uneducated masses content so they wouldn’t revolt completely against cold weather?” Marco snorts.

 

“Maybe the government’s responsible for snow.” Jean counters. “They don’t want people realizing that they give us cold and snow so that they can hoard all of the warm, sunny days for themselves.”

  
“Ah, of course. Damn them.” Marco sighs dramatically, and pauses in his ascent to look over at Jean. “Why is the government always involved in conspiracy theories, anyway?”

Jean looks around before whispering dramatically, “It’s a conspiracy by the government!” It takes three seconds before they both lose it, giggling and snorting like the two dorks they are. Marco’s laughing so hard he has to sit down, and Jean’s doubled over breathless and shaking from silent laughter.

  
After a few minutes, they both manage to regain some control and they pick up the sled, continuing their climb. At the top, they sit to regain their breath before they begin their adventures. As it’s dark, the snow is relatively untouched by others, and not too many people are out in the snowfall.

 

* * *

“We knew that we’d have the hill to ourselves for a little while if we went out that night as opposed to waiting for the morning- all of the little kids would be out and we didn’t want to have to worry about hurting someone.” Jean’s trying to stay calm as he recites their night, but the images of Marco bleeding in the snow keep flashing before his mind’s eye. “We’d started off just doing single runs."

* * *

 

 

Both of them sat panting, staring down at the marks their sled left behind in the snow. Jean did it balanced on one leg, while Marco managed a no-hand run.

 

“Man, this was worth the hike!” Jean stretches his arms skywards amid popping sounds. “My joints are stiff as hell, though.”

  
“You’re getting old.” Marco says this with a straight face, anticipating the reaction with glee. Jean doesn’t disappoint.

 

“WHAT THE FRICK?!” Jean glares. “YOU’RE TWO MONTHS OLDER THAN ME! You’re been lording that fact over my head my ENTIRE life, and now YOU have the AUDACITY to call me OLD?!”

  
Marco can’t help it, his façade breaks and he’s laughing, flopping back into the snow with this hands clutching at this sides.

  
Jean blinks owlishly before grabbing a handful of snow and chucking it at Marco’s face, treating him to his own personal flurry. Marco doesn’t stop laughing.

 

“You’re impossible.” Jean takes another handful of snow and shoves it down Marco’s pants before he’d on the sled again, diving down the hill with Marco’s shouts in the background.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
“A little while later we decided to do some double rounds. We both got on the sled, me in the front, the ‘steer’, and Marco in the back, the ‘breaks’.” The lump in Jean’s throat is becoming more pronounced, and he wonders if he’ll make it through the rest of the story.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Why do you want to be in the front? It’s awkward because you’re taller than me.” Jean grouches as he positions himself on the back of the sled, wrapping his arms around Marco’s waist as Marco leans back between his legs. Marco sighs and nods. “This is pretty uncomfortable, let’s switch.”

  
As Jean settles against Marco’s chest, they both agree this is much better. “You ready?” Marco asks, resting his palms on the ground to push off. Jean nods and begins the count down.

 

“Three. Two. One- GO!” They both push off, then Marco’s arms are around Jean’s waist and Jean’s hands grip the handles of the sled.

 

Things go pretty smoothly for a few rounds of this, until they misjudge the distance between themselves and the patch of the winding trail. They’re flying down the hill again, and this time the edge of their runner catches a patch of ice from the pavement. Immediately the sled begins to spin, over the trail and into a tree-intensive area of the park.

 

Jean’s boot heels are digging into the snow. It’s not the first time this has happened, and he’s pretty calm until they hit a tree root and the sled flips. Jean flies forward a few feet, slamming into the snow. His head hits another root, not quite buried under the snow just yet. He groans and looks up.

 

He sees ice and hears splintering wood before everything goes black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“When I opened my eyes again I saw red on the snow.” He swallows again, and begins to fidget nervously, his hand running through the top of his hair. “It was pretty clearly red, even in the dark. I called out Marco’s name, and I didn’t get an answer.” It had been the worst moment in Jean’s life.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ugh, that was pretty crazy. My head’s killing me, what about you? Marco?” Then he’d seen more red. “Marco?” A little worry now. He cautiously crawled forward, and cursed as practically speared his hand on a fragment of, upon closer inspection, sled. His stomach clenches as he slowly raises his head, following the debris to a tree. There’s red on the tree, too. “Marco!?” His voice is rising in pitch and he’s scared. He sees a boot, and a leg.

  
“….Marco?” This is nearly a whisper, as he reaches his friend’s still body. He sees the dark hair, the face surrounded by freckles. It’s then Jean notices two things: Marco’s chest is still rising and falling, and there’s a very bloody dent in his head. Relief and terror feel weird in your system at the same time, some strangely calm part of his mind notices as he screams for the first time.

 

The next few hours pass in a blur and take simultaneously an eternity and no time at all. He calls the emergency line, after what feels like forever (twenty minutes) they’re there with a stretcher, someone’s asking him if he’s okay, he’s discovered the sticky wound on his own head, and somehow he ends up in an ambulance next to Marco who still won’t wake up, and it’s taking all he has not to vomit from the sight of his friend’s brain sticking out of his skull.

 

* * *

 

 

“Then we arrived at the hospital, I got my head stitches, and then they sent me to talk to you. Um. That’s all.” Jean scratches his head, then remembers the stitches and stops. The man nods. “Alright. That’s all I need from you. Do you need a ride home?”

 

Jean shakes his head. “My mom’s waiting for me, thanks.”

 

It’s not a lie, his and Marco’s mothers are there. Jean just has absolutely no intention of leaving the hospital before Marco wakes up.

 

As he settles into a waiting room chair, he doesn’t think sleep will find him. He underestimates the exhaustion in his bones, and soon the adrenaline will wear off.

 

The last time he sees the clock it’s a little after two in the morning. His eyes slowly close, and his last thoughts are prayers to anyone listening that Marco will wake up in the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! JeanMarco is like my ultimate OTP and I'm just happy to be writing about them. I appreciate all of the kudos and comments, please feel free to let me know what you think!
> 
> So in this chapter Marco cracks his head open. I wonder what the result will be? 
> 
> Hint: I'm a sucker for Eyepatch!Marco. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	3. Marco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco gets used to his new face and wonders if Jean's going to find a new partner. 
> 
> Jean admits to drooling in his sleep. 
> 
> (Frozen references!)

Three months later and Marco’s still not used to it. He wakes up and wonders why one eye won’t open. He goes to shower and nearly jumps at the sight of himself in the mirror, his hair about an inch long and sticking up from his head like peach fuzz.

 

He’d scraped up his face and dented his head that night, also breaking his arm in two pieces.

 

Jean was okay though, and that was all that mattered, after all.

  
A life without Jean wouldn’t be one worth living, Marco thought to himself as he dried his hair, slipping his eye-patch over the still-gruesomely livid wound. But he’d never have to worry about that, unforeseen circumstances be damned. Because if he knew his friend (and he knew him pretty well) he knew that in about-

 

“MARCO!” Now, Jean would barge into his house like he usually did when he knew Marco was the only one home.

 

“POLO!” He shouts back, looking around for a shirt or pants or something to throw over his body. Jean’s footsteps are loud on the stairs and he has no desire to be caught naked once again. “Don’t come in I’m naked!!!” He shrieks as the knob turns on the door, and Jean tries to force it open anyway.

 

“So what?! It’s not like I haven’t seen your dick before!” Jean calls, shoving his shoulder into the door. Marco leans against it as Jean uses his body as a battering ram, grabs a towel, and moves to the side just as Jean charges once more.

 

Jean flies into the bathroom and lands face-first beside the toilet on the tile, swearing and sputtering as Marco just laughs his ass off behind his towel.

 

“Nice, Bott. Very mature.” Jean snarls, standing up and rubbing his head.

  
“Realllll smooth, Kirstein!” Marco sniggers, covering his mouth with his hand. He should have seen the look in Jean’s eye as he reaches out and snatches the towel away from Marco, who shrieks and covers himself.

 

“Ha-HAAA!” He crows, whirling it around his head. “I see London, I see France, I see Marco’s freckled ASS!”

 

“God Jean shut UP!” Marco glares as his face turns bright red, snatching his pajama pants from the floor and shoving them on. “Why are you even here so early? Shouldn’t you be snoring away in your own drool or something?”

  
Jean flushed. “I don’t snore!”

 

“So you admit to drooling.”

  
Jean changed the subject, which he was apt to do whenever Marco managed to say something he didn’t feel like addressing.

 

“I’m here because today we’re going to sled, remember?” Marco’s heart sped up. Right.

 

He hadn’t been allowed on a bobsled since he’d been hurt. It was the start of the winter season, the time of year they didn’t have to ride bikes or push weights in the gym, they could get out on fresh powder and just ride.

 

 

 

The past three months had been….an agonizingly slow blur.

* * *

 

Marco woke up in the hospital at eight-thirty-three p.m. on Tuesday, two days after the accident.

 

 _It’s so warm._ He thought to himself drowsily. _My head is made of cotton balls. Wasn’t there snow on the ground? Why am I so warm? Am I in bed? Mom? Why are you crying? Why are you holding my hand? Don’t cry, mom…_

 

Blinking in the light, Marco’s eye opened. “Ngh…” He made a small sound of discomfort, and Jean nearly jumped out of his seat, dropping Marco’s hand and furiously rubbing away at his eyes.

“Marco?” He wanted to scream, but it came out as a whisper.

 

“….polo.” He croaked, flashing one of his signature smiles..

 

Jean’s head fell forward and he picked Marco’s hand up, cradling it against his face. His shoulders shook and Marco knew he was crying. “You’re awake.” He mumbled over and over again.

 

“Jean….Jean, I’m okay, really.” He rasped, throat sore. “Water?”

 

Jean fumbled on the table for a big, pink, plastic mug and held the clear, plastic straw up to Marco’s grateful lips. He gulped down a fair bit before leaning back.

 

“So…..what happened and where are my parents?”

 

Jean winced. “We crashed.”

 

“I remember that part, dummy. Now tell me why I’m in a hospital bed and you’re sleeping in that chair.” Marco smiled. Jean did not.

 

“Your mom went home to grab a change of clothes for when you go home. Your dad’s in Hong Kong, I believe, and he’s been trying to get back here for days.”

 

“I’m going to start guessing things that are wrong with me. Did I break something?” His eyes traveled to his arm, in a sling. “I broke this arm?”

 

“Yeah, in two places. But they were clean breaks so the doctors think it won’t take long to heal right.”

 

“What else? Did I get something amputated?”

 

Jean shook his head. “You can feel your limbs, stupid. What parts of you are covered in bandages?”

 

“…my head?”

 

Nod.

 

“Concussion?”

 

“I saw your brain.” Jean shuddered.

 

“Now you have to admit I have one.” Marco teased, smiling. And then it hit him. “Did I mess up my eye or something? I can’t see anything out of this eye.”

 

Jean’s face fell. “Uh…your eye…it um…”

 

Marco’s face lit up in understanding. “I only have one eye now?”

 

Jean nodded. “But don’t worry! You only fucked up your bad side, so your good side’s still there?”

 

Marco stared at him for half a second before exploding with laughter. Jean cracked a grin and began to laugh, too, and that’s how Marco’s mother found them-  Jean holding Marco’s hand up to his face, both boys laughing while the tears fell silent and fast from their eyes.

 

After that first day things got easier. He had hairline fractures in his arm, which would heal more quickly than if they’d been severe.

 

He was allowed to do his leg exercises and lift with his good arm, about six weeks after the accident he began lifting milk jugs with his broken arm to start building back the muscle he needed.

 

It got easier, but one part made his heart ache.

 

It was winter.

  
He saw the snow piling up outside his window and he had to close the blinds. He ignored Jean for an entire week, locking his door and leaving his lights off. It was just too hard.

 

He didn’t know if he’d be able to make it to the Games next year.

 

And if he couldn’t go then it was better for Jean to go ahead and find a new partner.

 

About two months after the accident, Jean had had enough.

 

“MARCO!” He shouted, charging up the stairs to his friend’s room.

 

Marco remained silent, staring at his ceiling and ignoring Jean’s pounding on his door.

 

“Marco!” Jean huffed, and knocked again. “Do you…want to build a snowman?”

 

Marco blinked.

 

“C’mon let’s go and…play. I never see you anymore. Come out the door. It’s like you’ve gone awaaaay.”

 

He wasn’t.

 

“We used to be best…buddies. But now we’re not. I wish you would tell me whyyyyy.”

 

  
“Are you singing Frozen?”

 

“Do you wanna build a snowman?”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“It doesn’t haveta be a snowman.”

 

“….you’re a dork.”

 

“Okay, byeeeeee.”

 

Marco opened the door and stared at a red-face Jean. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

 

“It was the only thing I could think of that would get you to open up.” He muttered. “And it worked, right?!”

 

“So what do you really want, Jean?” Marco sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, the black brace rubbing against his good arm.

 

“I want to go outside and build a snowman and laugh and shove snow down your pants and just do something with you again because I miss my best friend and you moping up here’s gotten me all worried and depressed and I don’t know what I’d do if I ever had to live my life without you so just stop locking me out of your room before I steal my mom’s bobby pins and start breaking and entering, okay?” This all came out in a rush from an increasingly red Jean. “Besides you need to work on your arm strength and we have to figure out how the perception issues with your eye before the Games.”

 

Marco stared at Jean for a moment. “Jean…what if I can’t go?”

 

“Stupid, of course we’re still going to go! People get fucked up all the time in winter sports! There was some girl who I think skied or snowboarded with a brace on her arm last time! Injuries are normal, man, we’ve just got to make sure your muscles don’t atrophy too badly. Is that what you were worried about all this time?” Jean tilted his head to the side and raised one eyebrow.

 

“I didn’t want to prevent you from…I thought that there’d still be time for you to find a new….”

 

Jean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Marco’s- firm and soft. He pulled away. Marco gaped.

  
“Don’t ever say some stupid shit like that again. You’re the only person I’d ever team with.” He muttered. “Now come on, let’s go build a freaking snowman!”

 

Neither of them brought up the kiss again, but Marco didn’t care. He was outside, with Jean, in the snow, laughing and nailing him in the head with snowballs. For the first time in (forever) a while, Marco Bott was happy. 

* * *

 

One month later, they were in their gear and at the top of one of their favorite runs.

  
“You ready, Bott?” Jean snapps his goggles onto his face and positions himself on the sled, his arms tense.

 

Marco grins and does the same. “Let’s do it, Kirstein.”

 

“Three.”

 

“Two.”

  
“One.”

  
“ _Go!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FROZEN REFERENCES
> 
> I had to. I just had to. Originally I wasn't going to but it just came out and I left it and I love it. 
> 
> Congrats to the US 2 man bobsled team on Gold! First time in forever xD (a while). 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading :) Please leave kudos if you liked it and comment to let me know what you thought (about this chapter or just about Frozen)! Have a great day guys! 
> 
> (my apologies for the tense switches in the middle)


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